The Creation of a New Purpose
by steve-capsicle-rogers
Summary: The Merchant of Death. It was a name Tony Stark had recently heard. One he'd jokingly said wasn't that bad before picking up a reporter. That was before he'd watched good men die and taken Stark weapon shrapnel to the chest. Until he was fighting for his life and struggling for air. Putting his genius towards a new project and a new purpose. All he had needed was a box of scraps.


**Disclaimer**: If you recognize it then I don't own it.

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Pain was the most real thing in the world. It was otherworldly. Screaming did nothing for him, but cause a feeling of what he imagined shards of glass would feel like. If shards of glass were buried in your throat. Ripping into the soft tissue there. Cutting deep and without mercy. With no remorse or care for the agony they were causing. He was held down, the pain was mind-numbing and all-consuming and constantly present. It gave him no moment of reprieve. No rest. His body jerked and he could _feel_ these strangers working on him. There was nothing to help him, no medicine, no drugs, and no escape from this nightmarish hell. Then there was the cutting, more blood escaping his body and things were being shifted around inside him. Foreign objects were making a home inside his chest. Moving what he was created with, displacing it and causing so much pain. So very much pain. This wasn't real, this wasn't happening and why wasn't anyone hearing his screams? Why? Why was there pain and horror and blood everywhere? Why couldn't it stop? Did no one out there care that he just wanted to die? To be left in peace to just bleed out from this nightmare? Choked sobs escaped into the cooler air. His throat worked as they tore free. His frame shook with them and only caused more excruciating pain to burn through his traumatized body. He couldn't breathe and another sob burst forward.

Tony Stark felt the cloth cover his mouth dragging him into unconsciousness…far too late to help him escape the horror of an operation without a sterile environment or any medication. An unwanted operation where he'd been held down; cut open and had a foreign object installed into his chest. A gasp escaped him as he woke for the first time since he'd been mercifully drugged. He could see his breath. It was cold. Something was in his nose. Hands reached up and began pulling out the tube as Tony shoved back the fear rushing up to choke him. Nothing was right in the world. Everything was so very wrong. Why? _Why_? Finally he came to the end of the tube before pulling it out and ripping off the tape on his nose. The glass was back and his throat was dry, screaming for something cool and soothing. Some kind of light in the darkness. He glanced over and tried to grab onto one of the objects that appeared to be a cup. There had to be _something_ in there. It clattered to the ground and he wanted to cry. To rage. Wanted to give into the sorrow that was quickly finding its way into his heart because there was still pain everywhere. Focused in his chest. His throat. His head. Everywhere. He moved on the cot or whatever it was he was laying on as he tried to get something else on that small table. A tug on his chest stopped him. Hands moved. Then he noticed the man shaving in a mirror, staring at him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." It was accented and smooth. The first voice he'd heard since waking. Tony regarded him before turning to see the battery he was hooked up to, the wires connected to his chest. This was a nightmare. A gruesome nightmare and he felt disconnected from his own body as his hands began pulling away the wraps around his chest. _What was that_? He was hooked up to a car battery. There was something in his chest. Tony's breathing was rapidly picking up, hysteria was fighting its way to the surface and all he wanted to do was scream. To have some kind of control over his life because this wasn't right. This was all so very wrong. The cold seeping into his very being wasn't just from the cave. His vision was tunneling and a ragged breath escaped into the cave.

The man keeping him company was cooking and all he could do was stare at the horrible piece of metal in his chest with a small mirror. Why had he agreed to come over here for a weapons demonstration? Couldn't he have just flown some soldiers to America instead? It was clearly a horrible idea going to a country where such conflict was so widely prevalent. Why had Obie insisted on it so fiercely?

"What the hell did you do to me?" was that his voice? It was and he was staring at the other man because he _needed_ answers. Right now. This needed to make sense. It needed to be right. Why wasn't he back home with Pepper nagging him for a meeting or to sign a document or go give a speech? Why hadn't he just cancelled and taken her out for her birthday? She did so much for him and he hadn't even remembered her birthday. Maybe he had this coming? What kind of horrible person was he that this fell on him? What horrors earned something like this?

"What did I do? What I did was to save your life. I removed all the shrapnel I could but there's a lot left, and it's headed into your atrial septum. Here, want to see?" no Tony really didn't want to see and he wasn't really listening as the man picked something up while talking and bringing it over to him. The rattling noise of the metal dug into his brain, it buried itself deep and he wanted to scream. To throw something. To destroy until he'd burned out all of the rage clouding his mind.

Shrapnel. He had shrapnel from his own weapon working its way toward his heart. Tony couldn't believe it. Without the electromagnet in his chest it would take a week for those small pieces to reach his organs. To kill him.

_The walking dead_.

How fitting. He wanted to fling the container across the cave and rant and rave. Wanted to give over to the anger moving its way up into his throat; choking him while at the same time whispering seductively in his ear that losing control was perfectly reasonable. Why wouldn't it be? He could die any day now. If that fucking battery died or the wires somehow were ripped out. If one of his captors decided they wanted him to suffer then it was out of his control. That would be the end of Anthony Edward Stark. A shell of a man, dead in the desert in the middle of fucking nowhere. Wouldn't his dad find that amusing on some sick level? Wouldn't the great Howard Stark be so very proud of his only child?

Then the door was opening. Terrorists were filing into the room and his companion was translating those foreign words. _Tony Stark, the most famous mass murder in the history of America_. Bile rose in his throat. The _terrorist_, the murder in front of him, was _honored to meet him_? This wasn't right. It was so wrong. He built weapons to protect soldiers. To help. But these men before him held on to Stark weapons. Wanted him to build them the Jericho missile. There was no way. He'd die first. It wasn't like that small circle in his chest was going to keep him alive for very long and he wasn't going down knowing he'd given them one more weapon. Fuck that. Tony Stark was not giving in. He was a fighter dammit. He would go down fighting to the last fucking moment.

"I refuse."

He couldn't breathe. Water rushed down his throat and to his lungs. Choking him. It felt like shards of glass once more clawing his insides. The pain in his chest was crippling and fear ate away at his mind. Would he be electrocuted? Would he finally die in this horrible dirty cave with the freezing air? Surrounded by terrorists and mass murders? His head surfaced once more only to be thrust back into the dirty water; one small gasp of breath was all he'd managed to steal. Rough hands pushed him further into the water. Pulling tightly at his hair as they worked to keep him under. How many times were they going to do this? He'd lost track. The hands tightened in his hair, pulling it sharply at the roots and the gasp of pain from the action only brought more dirty water into his mouth. Down into his lungs. Choking him and stealing precious air.

Tony Stark felt those cruel hands jerking him back. He fell backwards onto the unforgiving floor gasping for breath. It came out as sobs. Violent, harsh sobs that caused his damaged chest to scream in agony. A hysterical laugh bubbled up from his chest amidst the sobs and escaped into the cold air. He'd curled into himself on his side, body fighting for breath and relief. Blackness seductively wrapped around him and Tony slipped into unconsciousness curled on the dirty floor with tear tracks staining his face. Brought out by the dirt and grime. But even that once comforting darkness caused him unimaginable pain.

Upon waking Tony's mind was not focused in the cave where he was held prisoner. It wasn't even focused on the way it hurt to breathe or the horrible device that had found a home in his chest. He was back in his workshop and Dummy was playing keep away with a screwdriver. The bot was wheeling around the workshop holding it out of Tony's reach. An honest grin stretched across Tony's tired face as he jumped for the tool. The fatigue he'd been battling was pushed aside as he indulged the bot in his game. Part of him knew that Dummy was more than likely trying to get him to slow down. He'd been in the workshop for days running on coffee and snark. More than likely Jarvis had communicated his worry to Dummy and the bot was trying to prevent Tony from working or trying to wear him out to the point of giving up for sleep. He'd finally grinned softly and stopped jumping to reach his missing tool.

"Alright. I'll sleep." In that moment Tony could practically feel the approval from Jarvis. Dummy lowered the tool cautiously for Tony to grasp. "Thanks, boy." It came out soft as he could honestly feel sleep closing in on his senses. His hand had reached out to run down Dummy's struts in affection because he honestly loved the bot. Loved Dummy with most of his being because that bot had been with him through so much. Had been there for so many painful moments, for triumphs and tribulations. Within two minutes of falling onto the couch Tony Stark was fast asleep.

A loud noise to his left caused Tony's mind to snap away from Dummy and Jarvis. Away from _home_. There was a burning in the back of his eyes. Why had he lived? Why couldn't they have just let him die? It wasn't like anyone would honestly miss him. Who would miss something like Tony Stark? A horrible excuse for a human being? A mass murderer? Brown eyes caught movement as he carefully sat up. Tony watched as the man responsible for his survival began moving towards him. It hurt so badly to breathe. It hurt to move. His eyes burned. Ears still rang from the explosions that had stolen the lives of good soldiers. Soldiers he'd joked around with. Soldiers he'd created weapons to _protect_. It would be so easy to drown in the feelings choking him. To drop into despair because this wasn't supposed to happen. A fucking weapons demonstration Obie had said. Tony Stark closed his eyes, took all of that emotion and buried it deep. Next to those feelings he'd stored from a neglected childhood where all he had seemed to do was disappoint his father. Cold determination was the only thing he needed right now.

Men entered the room again and he had a bag placed over his head. Clutching the car battery in his right arm he stumbled along with them as they pushed him through the cave into the bright sun. It burned his eyes and when that bag came off he did everything in his power not to let a sound of pain escape because had the sun always been that bright? Was it going to burn out his retinas? Blind him? That would just be the cherry on top wouldn't it?

There were terrorists all around. But that didn't really catch his attention. The piles of Stark weapons did. Crates of weapons, missiles, guns…so many weapons he'd created. They wanted him to build the missile, had the ability to get him supplies he needed. All they needed was a list. Well he was Tony Fucking Stark and he needed to get rid of the car battery. It needed to go. It wasn't going to work as his mind flew over possible solutions before alighting on the most impossible. The arc reactor. He shook the man's hand. They wouldn't let him live. There was no freedom with these people. They'd kill him or force him to make more weapons if he was still alive.

So he gave them a list. Instructed them on where to put things and then he began his plans. A miniature arc reactor was the first item he needed to create. The famous Howard Stark had never been able to create a smaller version of the one that powered one of their factories. He'd failed on that front. Well fuck impossible. He was Tony Stark. He was a genius and he could build one of those things with a pile of scraps. He was going to succeed where his father had failed.

"Your life's work in the hands of those murders. Is that how you want to go out? Is this the last act of defiance from the great Tony Stark?" those words would play across his mind frequently.

Mind sharpened and focused Tony began gathering anything he could use. Yinsen, the name of his companion, helped where he could. When that blue glow filled the cave he felt a vague sense of relief. He'd gained some control over his situation. Slowly he shoved the hysterical laughter down because he did not need his only ally questioning his sanity. Especially since he was already questioning it himself. Fifteen minutes. He could power that suit for fifteen minutes. Enough to escape; to destroy and get them the fuck out of there. It was shortly after testing one of his 'boots' that the terrorists showed themselves once more. Forcing Yinsen to his knees, holding that hot coal to his face. He found himself moving forward, trying to stop them. Demanding if they wanted a delivery date or something. Tony Stark now had until tomorrow to finish his suit, to escape and get them out of there. He got to work. It had been three months in hell. Tony was getting out of here. It wasn't a question anymore.

When the explosion rocked the room he wasn't prepared. They needed more time. The power sequence wasn't close to being finished. And then Yinsen was grabbing a gun and running out saying he'd buy them more time.

"Stick to the plan!" it was useless but he shouted it again. Gun fire, screams and then darkness descended upon Tony Stark as the suit sucked all of the power out of the room. It wasn't until the download completed and the suit was active that Tony felt like Tony Stark once more. Inventing and creating were the two states of being where he felt free. Complete. There were more screams, fire, fighting, gun shots and he was battling his way out of there. He walked through the damaged doorway and began to fight his way out. Knocking terrorists down, breaking through a door while mindful of who he was hitting because he couldn't risk the possibly of hurting Yinsen. In the end it didn't matter as he found Yinsen, bleeding, warning him in time to dodge the little rocket. He fired back and turned to the man who had saved his life. Who had sacrificed himself for Tony Stark. Someone who wasn't worth sacrifice. Tony felt his heart shatter; Yinsen would not survive. This wasn't possible. They had a plan. It involved _both_ of them escaping from hell. But his friend's family was dead and he wanted to go see them. Had given up everything he had for one of the most selfish men on the planet.

"Thank you for saving me." Tony was so very broken inside. Shattered completely. Was this all he did? Cause pain and death? Destroy lives?

"Don't waste it. Don't waste your life." It was a request from a dying man. From the man who had saved his life on multiple occasions. Who'd seen fit to save him. Had seen something in Tony that he didn't see or think was possible to exist.

He couldn't do that now. Wouldn't do that. _If_ he made it out of this place. If he survived this horror he would not be stopped from this last request. Nothing would get in his way. Resolve found its new home in Tony Stark as he watched the life slip from Yinsen's eyes. The man who had given all he had left for Tony to live.

A good man had given his life for him. For Tony Stark who was known as a merchant of death. He wasn't a good man dying in a cave for another. He wasn't a husband, a father or anyone that important. His hands were soaked in the blood of millions and now another's blood stained his very soul. This man had given his life for him. For Tony to have a chance to become something more than the man who had everything and nothing.

It was a blur of fire, bullets, screams, sand and burning sun. Everything had to be destroyed and he burned it all. With a silent prayer Tony activated one last feature of the suit.

Flight.

Tony Stark was airborne and then gravity stole him from the sky. The impact was jarring, but he was alive. Now he needed to live. Needed to escape and stop his weapons. Stop the loss of innocent life because Yinsen's death could not be wasted. If he was alive it had to be for a reason. A damn good one. He moved one arm shaking it slightly and then the other managing to lose some of the damaged suit. He pulled the helmet off. "Not bad." Tony was bleeding and buried in sand surrounded by the debris of his suit. He was alive. Wow. The sun was really fucking hot. So was the air. It burned his throat but it was far better than the feeling he'd experienced while in captivity.

Once he'd freed himself from the suit's remains and the burning sand he put his shirt around his head. Anything to increase his chances of survival. He stumbled along. Water would be a miracle he wasn't sure he'd ever see. Tears slipped down his cheeks only to disappear as the heat surrounding him soaked them up. He hurt so bad. Physically. Emotionally. In all the ways that mattered. What he wouldn't give to be able to just give into the blackness dancing at the edges of his awareness. To pass out. A desperate sob escaped slightly as his hand came up to his mouth and hysteria bubbled to the surface once more. Tony Stark allowed himself to give into the insanity that was his emotions. To mourn for Yinsen. For the soldiers he'd seen die. For all of those who had lost lives because of the Ten Rings or anyone else who had acquired Stark weapons for the purpose of terror. A few of those escaping sobs were for himself. For the person he'd allowed himself to become. The broken, damaged man who was stumbling through the sand without any sign of life. Hours he staggered along, allowing his mind to wander and his emotions ever so often to surface before finally steeling himself. Now was not the time for weakness. It was a time for strength and resolve and survival.

Stumbling through the desert, surrounded by sand, his mind then began to fly towards those disappointed looks his father often directed towards him. To the drunken stories of a Steve Rogers who Howard Stark held in higher regard than Tony could ever dream of. To that little boy working so hard to impress his father, but failing and hugging the Captain America doll Aunt Peggy had given him. Trying his hardest not to cry. Of the two people who had smiled at the little Tony Stark. Jarvis and Aunt Peggy. He wondered if he didn't get out of here would anyone keep up the search for her? Or would Obie finally be able to stop 'wasting funds on a lost cause'?

Then he could hear them. Helicopters were flying overhead and he was screaming, waving and laughing. People. Other humans. Shade. Oh he needed all of it and water and food and a bath. Fresh clothes.

To feel human once more.

It sounded so nice. He fell to his knees in the sand laughing slightly with one arm still in the air holding up two fingers. It finally dropped to his side as the men, dressed as US soldiers approached him. Rhodey. His friend. Idly he heard mention of the 'fun-ve', but he was far too happy to see his friend and allowed himself to be pulled into an embrace. Safe. He was safe. The world was going to right itself a little at a time. Now his eyes were burning for a completely different reason.

They checked him over thoroughly. He finally got that bath, a shave, a slight haircut and fresh clothes. Some food and water. People who didn't want to kill him spoke with him. Tony couldn't help but flinch around the medical staff and if it wasn't for the fact that he was beyond fatigued he'd have tried to make a break for it. They tried to check out his arc reactor, but he'd flipped out. There had been no way to stop that. Panic and screaming and fighting. He just wanted that left alone. It was okay to look at, but he didn't want some stranger touching the thing keeping him alive. Tony needed to make a new one, an improved one that wasn't close to dying like he knew this one was. It was one of the most important things in his mind.

He slept. Nightmare filled moments where he could not escape from the cave. Where his escape failed and the dirty water was back. The terrorists took at his arc reactor and his heart suffered for it. Tony woke gasping and crying and clutching at his arc reactor making sure it was still here. The soft blue glow was an assurance that he was alive. That he was ok.

The plane touched down and Tony saw more familiar faces. Pepper and Happy. His heart swelled and some more tension left his body. Pepper's eyes were slightly red and he felt a stirring of relief that she had actually missed him on some level. Tony Stark allowed his public persona to slip into place, not as firmly as usual but enough provide a good shield. There was no way he was going to the hospital. He wanted a cheeseburger. _Needed_ a cheeseburger. Multiple cheeseburgers and a press conference.

Nothing went well. Except the cheeseburgers. Those were amazing. He'd noticed the man speaking with Pepper briefly before he'd gotten the reporters to sit on the ground. Of being asked what had happened. His mind flashed to gun fire, pain, blood, flames and screams. He managed to keep the emotions fighting to the surface down as he answered carefully before getting to his feet to announce the shutdown of the weapons manufacturing. Chaos was everywhere. Obie was trying to calm them down and Tony soon found himself staring at the huge arc reactor. Obie questioning him and then covering up his arc reactor. Tony was done here.

Eventually he left and went home. He just wanted to get home. Somewhere safe and familiar and so very far away from the dark, dank cave full of painful memories. To see Dummy, Butterfingers, You and hear Jarvis once more. Tony had plans, had ideas and he was itching to build a new arc reactor. And a suit. There were far too many Stark weapons that needed to be destroyed. Tony Stark had a new purpose and he _needed_ to get started.

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_Thought I might go ahead and post this as it has just been sitting on my computer. Plus I haven't been able to update my other stories yet...hoping I can update something this week._


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